


The lowest visible flame

by Deputychairman



Series: God help us both if this is summer [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Fraser wants to make him feel better, M/M, Pining, Post-Call of the Wild, Ray hurts so pretty, manly repression of feelings, sleeping with the wrong person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 09:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deputychairman/pseuds/Deputychairman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The phone rang late on Friday and Ray was already in bed. He knew who it was, and for a second he thought he shouldn’t answer. It wouldn’t be right to talk to Fraser like this, not while he was in bed, not now he knew and hadn’t said it, not quite. It wasn’t like lying next to him in their tent, when they could both see how close together they were, both of them deciding inch by inch where the line lay. Picking up the phone now would be different. It would be like using his image without telling him, like thinking about Fraser while he – but he didn’t, he hadn’t, not since –</p><p>And then he found the receiver was in his hand and he was saying, “Fraser?”</p><p>Fraser smiled into his ear. “Hi, Ray. How did you know it was me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The lowest visible flame

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Somebrightneuroticstar and Flatulenceofthesoul for a heroic team effort beta; this makes significantly more sense because of you. If you feel it still doesn't make sense, well, all I can say is you should have read the first draft.

 

There was already a message from Fraser on the answer machine when he got back to his apartment.

“Um, hi, Ray, it’s me. I mean it’s Fraser. Benton Fraser. Ah, I hope you had a good flight – I mean will have had a good flight, I know you won’t be back in Chicago for another few hours, but I’m calling you now because – because I’ll be off duty later and I don’t have a phone. As you know. I thought I might get one though. Then you could call me. If you wanted to, obviously; you don’t have to-”

The machine cut off. The next message was also Fraser.

“Sorry, Ray, it’s me again, I was just going to say – to say that I’m sorry, really. I know you’re angry with me. You’re right to be, of course. I ought to – well, you know, never mind that, I hope you get back all right, and I’ll call you when I have a phone installed.”

That made Ray angry all over again when he heard it. So angry he thought he wasn’t going to be able to contain it, he would have to tear everything down until there was nothing left standing. But as soon as he had hurled the phone against the wall, all the fight went out of him and he collapsed on the couch. He put his arms over his face and fell asleep like going off a cliff.  
          

* * *

  
He knew Fraser was full of shit and wasn’t going to call him, so he let the phone stay broken for a week before he bothered replacing it. Wished he hadn’t when the first call came from Stella with her important- lawyer voice on. She wanted to have _coffee_ with him, which made him wonder if she actually remembered being married to him for 12 years. Coffee was something you drank to wake up in the morning, and Ray kind of wished people would stop using it as a front for uncomfortable social encounters. He’d signed divorce papers over coffee, been on a date that sucked over coffee, so he rolled up to this one ready to get sucker punched.

Turned out not to be like he expected. Stella was dressed down – classy, like always, but not fancy. She’d picked a diner, a normal place like they went when they were kids, where you could sit in a booth and be ignored. Not some fancy-ass wannabe European café where Ray’s fidgeting would knock the table over.

She stood up and smiled when she saw him; leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

“Hi, Ray, it’s good to see you. You look – you look really good actually.”

He didn’t feel good, but she was making an effort to be nice. Which was – good. He wasn’t making it easy on people to be nice to him these days. Never had, probably. The way Fraser used to act around him said more about Fraser than it did about Ray.

“Thanks, Stel; you too,” he said, because in spite of himself he did always try to rise to her level even when he didn’t want to. Some habits take more than a divorce to shake off.

“So Canada must have agreed with you, huh?” she asked.

“Oh yeah, you know me and outdoor living – fresh air and exercise, we’re like this…” he held up his crossed fingers. “It was home away from home, you know?”

Stella smiled and he ignored the little voice that said, _but it was, wasn’t it?_ Because if that voice had anything useful to say it should just spit it out already, instead of piping up at the edge of his concentration and reminding him of things he didn’t want to think about.

They managed some law enforcement small talk, but Ray knew she hadn’t called him up just to hear who he busted last week. Stella only called him when she had a reason; he was just waiting to get hit with it.

“Actually I wanted to tell you something, Ray,” Stella was saying. Which wasn’t as bad as _we’ve got to talk_ , but maybe once you were already divorced the order of badness switched around. She was fiddling with the sugar and Ray thought he already knew where this was going.

“Look, I wanted you to hear it from me - I’m seeing someone. I’m mean, I’m seeing someone _seriously_ ,” – for a second Ray imagined all the _serious_ dates they must go on, some guy in a tie talking about the economy –  “And he’s been offered a job in Florida so I think – so I’m going to go with him.”

Ray was nodding. He didn’t know where the instruction to nod had come from, but it seemed like an ok reaction. Good call, Ray’s autopilot: show her you’re listening, don’t rush in and say something dumb; nodding is good.

“Hey. Well. Good for you, Stel. Florida’s nice. Warm,” he managed to say. He didn’t feel anything in particular.

“Yeah.” Why was she still looking at him like that?

“Uh, so should I ask who it is? No one I know, right?” He really didn’t think it mattered who it was.

But when she said, “Um, actually yes. It’s Ray Vecchio,” he realised he’d been wrong about that.

“Huh,” he said. He slouched back in the booth to look at her. He was still waiting for a feeling to kick in, because all he could think was, that is _really_ fucking funny. An agonising few seconds went by. Then, as unbidden as the nodding, he found a stupid grin making its way out across his face. He tried to call it back but no dice, Stella had seen it.

“Sorry, sorry, Stel – am I losing it or is this actually kinda funny?”

He realised a smile was fighting to get out on her face too. She was covering her mouth with her hand but it got out anyway, until the two of them were laughing together like the last 10 years had never happened.

So in the end they had a coffee that lasted a really long time. She told him how it happened – well, not all, but enough. And it was ok. It really was kind of funny. Ray got to say, “Hey look, I know all about this guy – you wanna check out his pension, get the inside track on his ex-girlfriends, anything, you say the word, ok?” Like he was her brother, which that was not a feeling he’d ever, ever had about Stella before.

She asked him eventually: “What about you, Ray? Weren’t you thinking of staying in Canada?”

Anyone else, even Stella an hour ago, he would have said, nah, there’s only so much of Canada a guy can take before it starts rubbing off on you (which would’ve been true, too, but he wouldn’t have said it like a true thing). Instead he rested his chin on his folded arms and remembered everything that Stella knew about him, from way back. Things that no one else knew – well, ok, a couple of guys did, yeah, but no one who knew him _now_ knew. Not even Fraser. Especially not Fraser. Although after that scene at the airport that it was better not to think about, maybe he had an idea now.

For a second he honestly thought he was going to start telling her about Canada, what he’d seen, and how cool it had been.

He got as far as saying, “Uh, yeah. It was good. Me and Fraser had a really good trip, y’know? Adventure. But staying…”

And that, that was why Ray didn’t do so good on his own: he needed someone to ask the right questions. Always had. Now over the clatter of the diner, when he wasn’t expecting it, Stella had just asked one.

The answer reared up and blindsided him, knocked him to his knees. He had wanted to stay in Canada. _Now_ it hit him that he had wanted to stay; of _course_ he’d wanted to stay! Now, of all times. In a sunlit booth with his ex-wife, who was moving to Florida with the real Ray Vecchio. One quiet question from her and he couldn’t un-know what he’d wanted all along. And he couldn’t, couldn’t think about that right now. What did that even mean, what the hell was he thinking, wanting to stay in Canada?

And Canada wasn’t just some blank space to start over; Canada was every time he said, “He’s Canadian,” like it was up to him to translate Fraser for the rest of the world. It was the exhilaration of the sled; it was the tent at night with the two of them side by side. It was Fraser telling him stories by the fire; Ray’s things all over that empty house. Cooking Bolognese for Fraser; leaving him where the hangar lights didn’t reach. That was what _staying in Canada_ meant.

All the good feeling with Stella was gone; this thing was touching everything and there was no getting away from what he _wanted_. All he could do was get away from here, from Stella watching him expectantly. Like she already knew what he’d only just discovered.

“Oh shit, you mean… Nah, Stel – no, it wasn’t like that. Did you think, him and me  – don’t tell me you thought…”

She was shaking her head, holding up her hands like uh-oh, welcome to the bad old days.

So he made himself get a grip. Wrap up the going for coffee bullshit; kiss Stella on the cheek, tell her he was happy for her. Try not to ruin this. Hustle his panic out the door, get moving, keep moving, keep away from that thought, because what else could staying in Canada mean if it didn’t mean _that_? If it didn’t mean – mean the airport and everything him and Fraser never acknowledged?

He walked for a long time, fast as he could, through neighbourhoods he hadn’t seen in years and didn’t see now. But staying in Canada kept right on his heels.

When he got home there was a new message on his machine. He didn’t dare listen to it in case it was Fraser.

 

* * *

  
             
Staying in Canada stuck in his head. It crept out when he wasn’t thinking about anything, unfurling an image of their sled on the snow, their tent at night. He kept real busy to stop himself turning over what it meant, but he knew already. It was there as an undercurrent every time he sat at his desk and Fraser wasn’t there; every time he got in the car and Fraser wasn’t there.

Later, Stella moving to Florida with Ray Vecchio came out to join it. He was glad about that, because at least it was a reason he could tell people. Only he didn’t, in the end. Nobody asked.

Nobody asked until his buddy Jimmy called him up to say he was in town. Ray and Jimmy had been friends since high school, since before _Stella_ even. Ever since Jimmy got his teeth knocked out, and Ray learned he didn’t panic when everyone else did. The other neighbourhood kids had run off. But Ray had pulled Jimmy up from the tangle of his bike and used all his lunch money for a cab to the ER.

Jimmy had lived in St. Louis for years now and him and Ray weren’t so good at writing letters, but when they got together they just picked right up where they left off.  When they went out, they still liked the same kind of places. Dark places with good beer, good music: where you didn’t have to dress smart. So when they were maybe a little bit drunk already, and Ray found he did not want to say another fucking word on the subject of Stella and Vecchio and Florida, and Jimmy sure as hell didn’t want to hear any more, they ended up in a place with really good music. People were just starting to dance, and Ray hadn’t been dancing in _forever._

You could never bring Fraser to a place like this. He just didn’t dance, for a start – he could move like a dream if someone took a swing at him, but Ray had never seen him dance. Shuffle from one foot to the other, yeah; but not dance. If he was being honest with himself, he would never have brought Fraser to a place like this anyway. He didn’t need it rubbed in that Fraser could have his pick of all those beautiful girls who wouldn’t look twice at Ray. That Fraser had never seemed to _want_ his pick just added to – nothing. It added to nothing.

Because now he was out with _Jimmy_ , there was no undercurrent here. So Ray did a little shimmy back from the bar to Jimmy with a beer in each hand, just to show he still had the moves. Jimmy laughed at him, took his beer, and then it seemed like two minutes later they were talking to two beautiful women. Ray knew he was kind of drunk, but he couldn’t figure out how that had happened. In his experience – which was limited, because first he was trying to get Stella, and then he was with Stella, and later he was losing Stella, and when that was done he was too miserable to go anyplace you might meet women. And then he was Vecchio, hanging out with Fraser, and just – no. So in his limited experience, beautiful women did not just walk up and start smiling at him. This had to be divine intervention, God sending him what he said he wanted. Ray should just shut up and be grateful.

Ray didn’t have a type, physically. But he always noticed the smart girls. Girls who read books and dressed nice. Well brought up, like his mom said about Stella. If Fraser had known any girls, he probably would have known girls like Ray liked. And they probably would have liked Fraser, not him, because girls like that weren’t into city cops from meatpacking families who’d dropped out of college after the first year.

Except apparently tonight they were. Because a grad student named Anna was fiddling with her hair and leaning forward and listening to Ray like she was really, really interested. Ray was telling her something dumb about policing Chicago gangs, and she was saying, _Really?_ And _how do you deal with that?_ And _see, I find that fascinating, because my research is looking at the theoretical level of public policy-making but I bet the reality, for the officer on the street, must be totally different from the rhetoric in the council chamber, right?_

He couldn’t quite believe it. Everything he wanted had just walked right up to him and said _hi!_ Because he wanted a woman like that, he did. He told himself he shouldn’t screw it up with talking too much, risk saying something dumb, so he led her out on to the dance floor, crossing his fingers that he still did have the moves when it counted. For a second he was distracted by a weird memory of Fraser walking out of Inuvik across the snow towards him. But he shook it off. Got him and Anna another drink to keep it off. Dancing helped too, dancing was good, dancing had nothing to do with Fraser. Anna seemed to like his moves just fine. She got in close, flushed and smiling at him. Put her arms round his neck. He was saying to himself, _You can do this, she likes you, you can do this_ , but he didn’t know what he meant.

When she asked Ray to walk her home, of course he said yes. You had to say yes, didn’t you?  Who wouldn’t say yes? A woman like that, everything he wanted? He clapped Jimmy on the back, got a drunken grin and a thumbs up before Jimmy turned back to Anna’s friend. Anna’s friend just raised her eyebrows at Anna.

 

 

In the cool air and quiet of the street it hit him how drunk he was. But part of him didn’t feel drunk at all, and stood by watching everything he did. That part knew exactly what he was doing, but it wasn’t stopping him doing it. His feet just went on walking, his mouth went on talking: lights were on, nobody home. He was remembering last time he got drunk. Fraser had steadied him, got in the taxi with him, taken him home even though no way he was _that_ drunk, he could have managed. Fraser didn’t drink though; maybe he couldn’t judge. Maybe he just wanted to be sure. Or he just liked to think he was needed. Maybe he was.

Anna asked Ray up for coffee but she never made him any. He knew he had to kiss her now that he’d come this far, so he did it as soon as the door closed behind them. His body did kind of take over then: she really was beautiful, really into him. Deserved his full attention at the least. He understood that he ought to get out but he couldn’t see how to do it. When he shut his eyes he saw the red tent, and Fraser’s face, very close. But he’d been married a long time, he didn’t have to concentrate to do this. In one side of his head Fraser was looking at him; in the other he was in Anna’s bed that smelled nice, of woman, and sliding down her body until she came under his mouth. When she pressed a condom into his hand half of his focus was putting it on, and half was smiling back at Fraser in the lamplight. Half was watching Fraser get undressed like he pretended he never did.

Anna was wet and he slid in easily. But his hand was lower, and when he gasped, “Can I…” she knew what he wanted, said, _yeah, I like it, do it_. And he was lost then. There was no half any more.

He knew what he was thinking about, who he was thinking about, who he wanted to be doing this with. When he came, he was imagining other hands on him and another body under him and it was no good pretending. He wanted what he wanted, and he couldn’t have it. In the 3am dark of someone else’s apartment there was no getting away from that.  
         

* * *

  
  
Feeling like he did, it was only a matter of time before he screwed up at work . Took six weeks from when he came back, which just went to show that 15 years of police work and instinct only got you so far if you were really looking for trouble.

The trouble Ray found was working the Colletti case by himself. Three guys packing up handguns who would be out of town before anyone was even looking for them. They either didn’t know or didn’t care that Ray was a cop. Whatever, it didn’t make any difference to how they went after him. He had enough sense to try to run at first, then when they had him cornered some part of him just went, _hell yeah, bring it on_. It was way too late to be intimidating anybody here, but Ray’s act was pretty good and he showed them his teeth anyway. Just so they’d know he wasn’t afraid. He could take what was coming. Had a flash in his head of Dief showing teeth the way it was supposed to be done, and he yelled,

“What, you waiting for a fucking _invitation_ here, shitheads? C’mon, bring it on if you think you can take me!”

He got in a solid, inspired punch in one guy’s face that made a horrible crunch as his fist connected. Then they got him on the ground.

For a single second he was actually glad, because this was right, this was already how he felt. Getting the shit kicked out of him was just balancing inside and outside. Fraser probably had something smart he could have said about balance if he’d been there. But he wasn’t there. He was a thousand miles north and that was the root and stem and branch of everything that was wrong. That was everything that led to Ray curled up behind a warehouse while three men took him to pieces.

The next second it all just hurt and he thought nothing was ever going to balance again. Finally someone must have got in a kick to his head, because he blacked out and it didn’t start hurting again until he woke up in the hospital feeling like 17 kinds of shit and actually wishing they’d killed him.

 

  
Welsh came by at some point. He didn’t know when, because they’d hooked him up with the really good drugs. The ones that you just pressed a button for and it all came down the IV like a blessing. Which was exactly what Ray needed: a blessing, a divine intervention, the hand of God to sort everything out. And now he had it, so maybe getting beat up wasn’t actually his worst idea ever.

When he saw Welsh, though, he dimly remembered that it was nearly 25 years and a divorce since he last believed God was going to give him anything he needed. The closest he had now was a tired Lieutenant who cared what happened to him and felt responsible when someone half-killed one of his detectives.

Ray’s voice came out funny when he said,

“Nah, Lieu, I screwed up here. I went on my own, was my own fault…”

Welsh rubbed a hand over his face and nodded.

“Sure, Kowalski, sure.”

He sat down heavily next to Ray’s bed and patted his arm, which was probably the only spot on his entire body that wouldn’t hurt if he stopped pressing that button for the good stuff.

“So you talked to the doctor? She told me you look rough but you’ll be back on your feet in no time. Rest up at home for a week and you’ll be ok.” He sighed. “So. You want me to call anyone?”

Ray shook his head. His skin still seemed to feel it where Welsh’s hand had touched him.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Ray shook his head again.

“I don’t mean giving a statement. I mean, whatever it is that’s getting to you. Nothing will leave this room. You’re a good detective, Kowalski, I don’t want to lose you from my squad. Nothing leaves the room. Let me help,”

Ray pressed the button.

Welsh sat and watched him. Ray still didn’t know how much time was going by.

Later Welsh’s voice said,

“You want me to call your parents?”

All the edges had gone soft. The idea of his parents turning up now was so awful it was almost funny.

“No. Thanks, Lieu,” he managed.

“Your ex-wife?”

That was definitely awful enough to be funny, but his laugh sounded wrong to him. He saw Welsh grimace so it must have sounded wrong to him too.

“Ok. Ok, Kowalski. Easy,” he said. Ray hadn’t known Welsh could sound like that. All…concerned. Kind.

Another stretch of time floated past. He sort of knew what Welsh was going to say next so there wasn’t any rush for him to hear it.

“What about Constable Fraser?” Welsh said eventually. “You think it might be a good idea if I called him?”

Even though he’d been waiting for it, hearing Fraser’s name spoken out loud still sent a jolt through him like electricity. His heart thumped with a pulse of vivid memory, as if the name had conjured Fraser right into his mind’s eye. He found his eyes wanting to close without him to follow that memory, but it felt very important to answer the question first.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that’d be good. Someone should call Fraser.”

Welsh nodded and patted his arm again. “Ok, Ray. Ok,” he said.

 

 

Welsh was right: it looked worse than it was. They took away the good drugs and the IV that same day, which pissed the hell out of him. Everything started to hurt again.

Later someone brought him a phone message. Lt Welsh said Constable Fraser was out on a patrol; he’d left a message for him to call Ray. There was something shocking about Fraser’s name written down like that, where anyone could read it. Ray folded the paper up so the writing wouldn’t be looking out at him. Then he didn’t know where to put it, and when he went to sleep he still had it in his hand.

Ray was in the hospital overnight for observation. Next day they sent him home with ice packs and pain pills and told him not to go to work for at least a week. He knew they were right; of course he couldn’t go to work like this. Didn’t even want the cab driver to see his face. But the very last thing Ray needed to be doing was sitting alone in his apartment, aching and wondering if Fraser was really going to call. That was a thing he really did not need, out of all the things he did not need.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent a week alone. Had he _ever_ spent a week alone? Well if he hadn’t, he sure hadn’t been missing anything because it sucked and it was boring. Fraser, now; he was a big alone-time guy. He wasn’t self-pitying about it, just perfectly clear that a lot of his life had been just him. Or just him and a wolf, which was close to the same thing as made no difference.  Maybe it just meant you could talk out loud without feeling like you were crazy, which had to count for something because pretty quickly Ray started to feel like he was crazy.

He kept remembering the drive to the airport, getting out of the 4x4 where the hangar lights didn’t reach. Fraser starting to reach out, his stricken face after Ray - no he _wasn’t_ going to think about that! And he would pace around the apartment like he could walk faster than his memories. He jumped out of his skin every time the phone rang and it was someone selling life insurance. He would have smashed the _fucking_ thing against the wall again, only he had to talk to Fraser. He needed to talk to Fraser, he wanted to talk to Fraser, _that_ was what he wanted.

Oh to hell with it, he was done pretending here. He just wanted Fraser.

 

* * *

  
  
Fraser called the third day he was holed up in his apartment. It had gotten dark out without him noticing; the only light came from the street and the glow above the stove.  
When Ray picked up Fraser said, “Ray, it’s me,” like it never crossed his mind Ray wouldn’t know who it was. Something twisted in Ray’s chest at that, because who else did either of them know well enough to say, _it’s me_ , to on the phone? Confident that his voice was recognised, listened for, falling on familiar ears?

Fraser said, “Ray, are you alright? I just got back, there was a message from Lt. Welsh that you’d been hurt, you were in the hospital, what _happened_?”

It was so good to hear Fraser’s voice that Ray felt a lump in his throat. He had to swallow and scrub at his eyes before he could answer.

“I’m ok, it’s not so bad, just some bruises,” he muttered, wanting to sound tough but so melted by Fraser’s voice he couldn’t pull it off.

“But what _happened_?” Fraser insisted.

“I got beat up, ok? I was following up a lead, some guys with guns jumped me, that’s it. No permanent damage, boring story.” He wouldn’t tell Fraser about working on his own. He didn’t need to know that. Or that fleeting feeling of _balance_ behind the warehouse.

He had to deflect five minutes of worry before Fraser was satisfied. But he didn’t mind it. It was nice to be the centre of Fraser’s attention, to know that even all the way up north he was sitting somewhere with his back to the room, leaning into the phone. Ray could picture him doing it, the lilt of his shoulders as he made them a private space, thinking about nothing but Ray.

“God it’s really great you called, I didn’t speak to anyone all day, Frase, I’m going kinda crazy here,” Ray said, stretching out on the couch, settling in to talk to Fraser for as long as it took till he felt like himself again. Then it hit him Fraser must be calling from work.

“Oh no, hey, aren’t you gonna be tying up the Mountie line there, calling me? But I don’t mean you should go, don’t go, Fraser!” he finished in a panic.

But Fraser was talking across him. “No it’s alright, I’m at home. I moved, I’m renting a house now. And I got a phone, so I could phone you. I mean phone people. Well. Mainly you, actually. Probably just you really, Ray”.

“Really?”

“Yes, Ray,”

“Well thanks, Fraser. You’re pretty much the only person who calls me who isn’t selling something, so, you know, that’s good.” Then he realised, that wasn’t true: Stella had called. When had Stella phoning him become something he forgot? She’d been nice; concerned; in Florida. Her call had sunk into the day without leaving a ripple in his solitude. “And I haven’t left this apartment in three days, so I know all about the people who call to sell you something.”

“So what are you doing for food?” Fraser asked, and the question made him ache with its unheard bass line. The deep notes that said: I know you, I know the small facts of your life, I know there’s never anything to eat in your apartment.

“That better not be a sneaky Canadian attempt to sell me pemmican,” Ray said. He could hear the smile in Fraser’s voice as he replied,

“Oh no, Ray, an exchange of pemmican between partners should never be a financial transaction. For you, it would only ever be a gift.”

“Well thanks, I appreciate that. But I’m good, I’ve got a shit load of spaghetti here. Which I am kinda bored of, but I am not going out where anyone can see me while my face is still all bashed up. I ain’t pretty, Fraser.”

Fraser’s smile still coloured his voice. “Never mind, Ray. I still love you.”

And it was a joke, of course it was a joke. One of those kind, Fraser-jokes, where another guy would have made a crack about Ray’s face frightening little kids. But Fraser was his best friend and he made a joke about loving him anyway. So now Ray had to make a joke back, he had to say something light, something funny. Words whirred about his head, things he could say. But he had to say it soon, they couldn’t leave this pause, this pause would give him away, something had to come out of his mouth soon or it would sound like he was making a big deal out of it, c’mon, c’mon, say something, this is taking too long here –

He heard his own voice say,

“Thanks, buddy, I love you too,” and suddenly his heart was pounding.

But Fraser didn’t miss a beat when it was his turn back, he was saying in that earnest way Ray really _did_ love,

“There’s no shame in being injured in the line of duty, Ray…”

“Sure, I know that,” Ray said. He held his bruised left hand out in front of him, and watched it shaking. “I’ll be fine. Just, it’s like they tell you, it hurts worse if someone did it to you than if you just fall off of something. An’ I was stupid, it was a rookie mistake, letting that happen, and now I’m hiding up here, with no one to talk to, so, uh, yeah…”

Fraser’s sigh gusted into his ear. “I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.”

“You _are_ making me feel better. You are. C’mon, stop worrying. Tell me what you’ve been doing. You all settled up there now? Must be good being home, right?”  
Fraser didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “It was better when you were here, actually…”

Ray felt that like another punch in the gut. He didn’t know what to say except the truth.

“Yeah, well, it was better when _you_ were _here_ , too. I don’t like being on my own. I mean, I can do it, I ain’t gonna die of it, but it sucks, you know?”

Fraser sighed. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said.

“You do?” Ray asked in surprise.

“Yes, Ray.”

Then he didn’t say anything else. Fraser’s pauses meant something, Ray knew that. They always meant something, you had to watch what Fraser _didn’t_ say and how he wasn’t saying it. But how could he translate a pause that had travelled a thousand miles down a wire?

“Frase? You ok?” he asked.

“Me? I’m fine, Ray,”

“Yeah? You sound – you sound – I dunno. Not so good. But maybe that’s just me. Guess it’s all just me, huh?”

There was another pause down the line, then the sound of Fraser taking a deep breath. Ray found he was holding _his_ breath without knowing why. The silence stretched out in the dark until Fraser breathed out again. Eventually his voice came quiet against Ray’s ear.

“It’s not – it’s not just you, Ray.”

Ray took a deep breath then. He didn’t know if Fraser meant the same as he did, but the words were _so close_ to what he wanted them to be.

“Good,” he said stupidly. Fraser’s huff of laughter sounded like it came from right next to him, not all the way across the lake and the dark Canadian prairies.

Because he was very near and very far away at once, Ray said:

“Can I tell you something, Frase? I gotta tell you something,”

Fraser said, “Ok,” but his voice was cautious. Like he could tell they were setting something off and wasn’t sure where all the pieces were going to fall. Yeah, you and me both, thought Ray.

“My buddy Jimmy, from high school. He was in town. So him and me, we went out dancing, and we got to be dancing with these two women,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” Fraser didn’t know where this was going now.

Ray pressed on over Fraser’s confusion. “And this one woman – Anna. Her name was Anna,” he added with a fresh pang of guilt. “She was real nice, I liked her. Seemed like she liked me. So we – we went back to her place and…”

“Congratulations, Ray,” Fraser said stiffly. “I’m very pleased for you, that you’ve met someone.”

Ray cut him off. “No. No that ain’t it. That’s not what I’m telling you.”

“No?”

“No.” Ray repeated. “Because I – she asked me, and I went home with her. And she was everything I should want, ya know? Really beautiful, seems like she’s interested in me, invites me home with her. And we – you know – we…”

“Yes Ray, I believe I know,” but the way he sounded, he really didn’t yet.

“No,” Ray said again, urgent. “No, the thing is, she was what I oughta want – what I thought I wanted. But while I was with her, the whole time I was there, I wasn’t thinking about her. It was like I was there but not there, you know? Like I was acting out this part, and watching myself do it. And it wasn’t what I wanted. I wasn’t thinking about her. I was thinking about…” He couldn’t say it around the panic rising in his throat.

Still silence from Fraser.

He tried again. “I was thinking about…”

The words went thrumming through his head. _I was thinking about you_. He could almost hear it; couldn’t say it to that thousand mile silence.

“I was thinking about – something else,” he finished, willing Fraser to hear what he hadn’t said.

A long pause stretched out between them. Ray could hear his own pulse in his ears.

Then Fraser asked softly, “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yeah. That’s what I wanted to tell you. You understand what I mean, Frase?” _I was thinking about you. All the time I was with her, I was thinking about you._

“I – I’m not sure, Ray.” Fraser’s voice was so careful, like something might break. Ray thought he wouldn’t sound like that if he really didn’t understand. “Are you telling me about, ah, not wanting what you thought you wanted?"

“Yeah, that’s it. And realising I want something else that I can’t have. I mean I don’t know though. That’s why I had to tell you. I don’t know if you …” and no. That was it. That was as far as Ray could take it on the phone, curled up alone on his couch, with Fraser half a continent away. A revelation in your head happened in its own contained space like a fire in a grate. But he didn’t dare open his mouth and let the spark out, let the phone carry it to Fraser.

“Do you know what I’m saying, Frase?” he insisted: low, urgent. ( _You, it’s you, I can’t stop knowing that now._ )

“Yes, Ray,” said Fraser.

Ray turned his face into the couch. He was gripping the phone very hard. He imagined that if he reached out, Fraser would be _right there_.

  
            

* * *

 

Fraser called him every night that week. They didn’t say anything much, but a lot of time always seemed to have gone by when they hung up. It wasn’t like having Fraser there but it sort of was. Ray would lean on the kitchen counter and remember what they’d been saying while he leaned there the night before, like his furniture had echoes.

The phone rang late on Friday and Ray was already in bed. He knew who it was, and for a second he thought he shouldn’t answer. It wouldn’t be right to talk to Fraser like this, not while he was in bed, not now he knew and hadn’t said it, not quite. It wasn’t like lying next to him in their tent, when they could both see how close together they were, both of them deciding inch by inch where the line lay. Picking up the phone now would be different. It would be like using his image without telling him, like thinking about Fraser while he – but he didn’t, he hadn’t, not since –

And then he found the receiver was in his hand and he was saying, “Fraser?”

Fraser smiled into his ear. “Hi, Ray. How did you know it was me?”

“Everyone else is selling something, remember? They don’t sell this late. Had to be you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think about the time. Am I disturbing you?”

“No. No. Course you’re not. I mean, I’m in bed, but you ain’t disturbing me.” Only that wasn’t precisely true, was it? He shifted, made himself keep talking to stop his thoughts drifting off in that direction. “Hey, it’s good, actually – you can tell me a story, like when we were out on the ice, be like I was still up there.” But the thoughts that had already slid off that way echoed, _tell me a bedtime story? Want to fall asleep to the sound of his voice, huh? What’s gonna happen then, Ray?_

Fraser seemed to think about it for a moment. He even started something to do with wolves – something that probably was a proper story. Only Ray was just hearing his voice and not the words at all.

He noticed when Fraser stopped part way through though, alerted by the change in rhythm.

“Ray? Can I tell you something else instead?”

“Yeah. Sure, buddy. Anything.” Now he was listening to the words.

“Today I saw a woman who knew me when I was a child up here. And she was asking me – telling me – about my mother. She thought I knew, that I knew all along what happened and how she died...”

“But you didn’t,” Ray supplied after a silence.

“I find I’m not – I’m not quite sure, actually. I know my father and I never spoke about it, but when he – when I heard Muldoon boasting about what he’d done, I wasn’t surprised. And I thought, shouldn’t I have been surprised? If I really hadn’t known at all?”

There was another silence.

“Maybe - we don’t think about things that hurt, I guess,” Ray said in the gentlest voice he had in him. “Some stuff, you can only survive by not thinking about.”

“Yeah,” said Fraser. Ray could hear him breathing. “It’s like – do you remember what you said, before you left Inuvik, about how you hadn’t been thinking about leaving? How you’d been avoiding thinking about it, on purpose?”

“Yeah,” Ray said. He remembered all about those last weeks they’d spent together. Every stupid thing he’d said and every stupid decision he’d made.

“You know, I think I must have been doing the same thing. Because now I find that I’m not as…content as I used to be. Here. On my own. I mean I should have known, I _must_ have known it would be different up here once you’d gone. But I didn’t say anything, did I? It honestly came as a surprise that once you’d gone, I wasn’t – I didn’t – I don’t seem to be very happy. You knew what you weren’t thinking about, and that’s why you did it. But I don’t think I even knew what I wasn’t thinking about.”

“Yeah?” Ray said again. He was listening to the meander of Fraser’s voice as hard as he had ever listened to anything in his life.

“But you knew, didn’t you? And you were waiting for something, something from me. And at the airport, that’s why you were angry, because I hadn’t – when you – I was surprised – I didn’t know - ”

Oh God were they going to talk about the airport? He couldn’t even think the word for a second, it was just _the airport_ , not what he did there. Not _I kissed him. I meant it. I kissed him and I meant it_. All these ellipses both of them had been sliding away from.

Fraser stopped sliding. “When you kissed me…” he said.

“God I’m sorry, that was a shitty way to say goodbye to you, I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t mean it angry, I just couldn’t…” he babbled.

“How _did_ you mean it, Ray?”  Fraser asked quietly.

It was a fair question. A terrifying, fair question, like those gods of the dead must ask when they weighed up your heart. So this was the last moment of balance. This was teetering, because whatever he said would tip the scales one way or the other. Push them further apart or closer together, but there was no more staying here.  
Ray shut his eyes and tipped the scales.

“More. I meant it more, Fraser. I meant it better, I meant it not goodbye, I don’t know, I can’t do this on the phone, Frase, can you get down here or something? Think about what we do, I can’t – you up there and me here, this is all wrong, we gotta _do_ something, I gotta see you…”

And Fraser was talking over him, saying, "Shh I know, yes I can come, I’ll manage something, it’s ok, it’ll be ok, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray. Listen to me, are you listening to me?" His voice was shaking.

Ray couldn’t remember afterwards what they said to each other the rest of the call. He knew what it meant though, and that seemed more important. He finally fell asleep listening to Fraser’s voice telling him he would come, he’d get a flight, I’ll see you in Chicago, I’ll see you soon, I miss you.  
             

**Author's Note:**

> So I said there would be a happy ending where they fall into each other's arms and don't come out of the cabin for 3 days. This is not that happy ending. I can only apologise to anyone who was nice enough to say they would like some more of this, and promise that I'm writing it.


End file.
